The view from the top of the Rocker des Dons (a contraction of Dominis)
grows upon me, and is truly magnificent; a vast mountain-girdled plain,
illuminated by the far windings and reaches of the Rhone. The river is
here almost as turbid as the Tiber itself; but, I remember, in the upper
part of its course the waters are beautifully transparent. A powerful
rush is indicated by the swirls and eddies of its broad surface.
Yesterday was a race day at Avignon, and apparently almost the whole
population and a great many strangers streamed out of the city gate
nearest our hotel, on their way to the race-course. There were many
noticeable figures that might come well into a French picture or
description; but only one remains in my memory,--a young man with a
wooden leg, setting off for the course--a walk of several miles, I
believe--with prodigious courage and alacrity, flourishing his wooden leg
with an air and grace that seemed to render it positively flexible. The
crowd returned towards sunset, and almost all night long, the streets and
the whole air of the old town were full of song and merriment.
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